for the good of the country
by Cath1
Summary: She thinks this would be easier if she didn't have the weight of the country on her shoulders. Post ish ep 9.3. Ruth/Harry.


for the good of the country

Disclaimer: disclaimed

Summary: She thinks this would be easier if she didn't have the weight of the country on her shoulders. Post(ish) ep 9.3. Ruth/Harry.

Notes: Don't seem to have time to post things in a timely manner at the moment – more than one post ep 9.2 fic is half-finished but by the time I get round to writing more it's already a week later and thus outdated. However, I'd mostly finished this, so decided to post even though it is so last week.

Plausible? Maybe not. But the title/idea came to me, and sometimes I like to challenge myself to write something different. I'm a little hesitant about posting, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. But hope you enjoy! Possibly next time I'll challenge myself to write some fluff, instead. Series 4 maybe, so taking a month to write it makes no difference to its current relevance!

Oh, and thank you so much to everyone who reviewed my last fic – apologies for not having the time to reply individually, but I really do appreciate each and every review!

XxX

Ruth tightens the scarf around her neck as she walks briskly, warding off the coldness of the wind. Regardless, she shivers; a response from something more than just the weather. And as she does, not for the first time, she wonders if she can do this.

XxX

_Monday_

"Someone needs to talk to Harry," Lucas comments. She hears the tail end of the conversation, sees the slight glance over his shoulder at her as she enters through the pods, late into the office due to a meeting with the Home Secretary.

More frequently, she has been asked to meet with increasingly important people within the collation government. She doesn't ask why; the Home Secretary is worryingly blatant about his distrust of Harry's methods and increasingly seeks her opinions. She briefly wonders if there is more to it, but she has no evidence of this.

"Morning, Lucas," she greets him. She gives no indication that she heard his comment.

"Ruth," he replies, a brief smile crosses his features. From the corner of her eye she sees that he gives a dismissive nod to his team, silently informing them to get on with their work, before he approaches her.

"Harry listens to you, right?" he starts almost conversationally. But really, it's an implication that Harry listens to her more than he listens to anyone else.

She raises an eyebrow. "Last I heard, Harry listens to you."

He gives a half-smile, folds his arms and leans against her desk. "I think we both know that Harry's opinion of your advice and his opinion of mine are two entirely different things."

It's a blatant understatement.

If it weren't so true, maybe she'd question the professionalism of the statement.

XxX

She's never physically been to Harry's house, but she knows where it is without the aid of Googlemaps or a TomTom.

As she approaches she is half-aware of mentally counting down familiar names of roads she passes; ten, nine, eight roads until Harry's.

And then, sooner than she'd anticipated, she finds herself at the end of his road. She propels herself onwards. She needs to do this, she reminds herself. There are greater needs than hers.

XxX

_Tuesday _

"Is Harry always quite so... preoccupied?" Beth asks after one of their no-longer-quite-so-infrequent evenings of wine and conversation. They get along surprisingly well considering that neither really chose to be in this situation and that their common interests are limited.

"Preoccupied?" Ruth asks questioningly, as though not understanding. But the reality is that she's just digging for more information.

Beth swirls the wine around her glass thoughtfully, before drinking the last of it. She shrugs. "I don't know; I just get the impression that perhaps he'd rather be somewhere else." She pauses. "Maybe he's had enough of life as a spy?" she ponders.

Ruth knows exactly what she's referring to. And it concerns her that others, less familiar with Harry's character, have picked up on it so easily.

XxX

She stands in front of Harry's house, hands by her side, almost ready to launch into action and ring the doorbell, but is frozen in inaction.

She thinks maybe this would be easier if she didn't have the weight of the country on her shoulders.

XxX

_Thursday _

"Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Harry Pearce, but I'm not entirely sure that he's up to the job anymore," the Home Secretary tells her. "Times have changed, Ruth."

She wishes that the Home Secretary would stop electing to bypass Harry and ask her opinion, or state his own, directly. The frequency of these communications seems only to have increased since his discovery that she was not only their Russian specialist, but had knowledge of a variety of other countries and subjects. It is hardly within her abilities to keep information from her boss' boss' boss, but she cannot abide anyone who attempts to hide a predilection or opinion behind "Don't get me wrong," "It's nothing personal, but,", or, her favourite "I'm not racist, but...".

She's told Harry of her conversations with the Home Secretary but he takes seemingly increasingly less interest in them, or, for that matter, her. "If you want to have an intimate relationship with the Home Secretary, Ruth, don't let me stop you," he said once. She somehow managed not to roll her eyes in frustration, and since then no longer voices her concerns, just reports the updates with nothing more than a statement of fact.

She wants him to get past this bloody mindedness, to see what is really happening, and see that there is more at stake than their non-relationship. Forces are against him to the extent that they are trying to enable his retirement, and these forces are entirely unaware of the impact that this would have not only on their section, but the nation as a whole.

"Home Secretary," she interrupts his diatribe of personal belief, somehow withholding a weary sigh, "I will pass on this information onto Harry and advise him of your thoughts on the matter."

He chuckles. "Ruth," he says – and it bothers her that he uses her first name, but she has no say in that matter either – "I think it is rather evident that I don't really care what you do or don't tell Harry Pearce. I would just like to ensure that this situation is resolved, and to the benefit of our country."

They end the call, and Ruth can't help but think that his interpretation of the benefit of the country is decidedly different from her own.

XxX

She hates that it seems that this is the only option.

She's convinced that the country's future relies on this man, that – rightly or blindly – she trusts only this man's abilities to make the right or the best decisions for the nation. She's also convinced – and others share these beliefs – that he cannot carry out this vital task to his best ability in his current mindset. Thirdly, she's convinced that neither rhyme nor reason nor any of the methods attempted thus far can convince him to re-engage with the required mindset.

The question is, is she convinced enough of these facts to sacrifice herself, her feelings, her morals, for the good of the country?

She reaches forward and rings the doorbell.

XxX

_Saturday_

She makes a decision on Saturday. Like it or not, the nation needs Harry Pearce to be functioning at his sharpest; no second guessing, no bouts of self-doubt, no idle thoughts of a different life distracting him from his role. And somehow it seems that she is the only one who can refocus him. Or, at least, she has one method left not yet utilised.

She has sacrificed herself for this cause once before; sacrificed her whole life so that Harry Pearce could continue to protect the country. This time, there's no risk that she'll have to start her life over; surely it should be nowhere near as difficult. But somehow, this time, it feels more of a challenge.

Yes, she decides, the nation needs Harry Pearce. And she's not going to let the prejudice of the Home Secretary, or other powers that be, decide otherwise.

XxX

The door opens. "Ruth?" Harry asks, questioningly, flustered, before he finds the appropriate tone of politeness that he now seeks to adopt when talking to her. "Can I be of assistance?" He has changed out of his regular office clothes, of formal suits and ties, and for some reason this unexpected detail puts her off her mission for a moment.

"Can I come in?" she asks eventually. She attempts to hide her nervousness, but senses that she fails miserably.

"Certainly," he opens the door wider, permitting her entry.

In her mind, she'd planned this conversation down to the smallest detail, his responses included. And now, she stands in his hallway, reminding herself of why she is there, and every single line, including the first, eludes her. She finds it surprisingly disconcerting to be actually standing in his house, his gaze scrutinising her, and it is only when he says her name that she is able to refocus. Fleeting thoughts of the Home Secretary and his obvious plans flash through her mind, and she knows that she needs to do this.

"What if I decided I wanted something different, something more?" she asks. "Not marriage. Not now. But more than colleagues."

And then he looks at her and all reason and excuses go out the window. She wants this. Damn it, she wants this.

XxX

_Monday_

It feels odd, this, selecting the right outfit to seduce Harry Pearce, something she has dreamed of doing on more than one occasion, but not like this. Not in this clinical, planned manner.

And what is the right outfit for convincing Harry that she has changed her mind when the reality is that it's all orchestrated?

She doesn't tell anyone of her plans; does not seek their approval or input.

If it goes wrong, they needn't know.

And if it goes well, they'll find out soon enough.

And somehow the thought of their relationship changing brings a smile. She tries to convince herself that it's the thought of a job well done, of achieving something for the good of the country.

She almost manages to convince herself.

XxX

There is a long moment of staring, unmoving, of communication with eyes and subtle body language. Then he moves almost imperceptibly closer to her and she mirrors his movement. Slowly, they are drawn to each other until there is no distance between them at all.

He leaves it to her to make the first move. She glances down to his mouth, then back up to his darkened eyes, and then, without further thought she presses her lips against his. Tentative at first; a brief brush of lips. And then a second time, more certain.

There is nothing tentative about the third meeting; mouths crush against each other, hands tangle through hair, pulling the other closer. Mouths open and tongues entwine hungrily.

Finally, gasping, they part.

All this without conscious thought, she realises. Her perceived reasoning entirely abandoned for her personal need. The good of the country be damned, this was about what she wanted. And still, it doesn't feel quite right when she recalls her intentions. She shouldn't be here, taking this, not for these reasons.

She really does want this, she realises; she wants something less than marriage, but more than colleagues, but not like this. She pulls further away.

"I can't do this," she says. And, rightly, he looks confused. She smiles, clarifies, "I mean, I can do this, but not right now, not like this. I need you to be yourself again; for you to care about your job and consequences and what the Home Secretary thinks. And with none of this self-doubt nonsense. I need us to be us, and then... and then... maybe I could ask you to dinner."

He smiles, amused by her rambling, and already in that moment he's more Harry than he's been in a long time. "Ruth, I've never cared about what the Home Secretary thinks."

"Just... think about what I've said. Okay?" she asks, hesitantly.

"I always do," he responds.

XxX

_Tuesday_

She arrives at work early the next morning, and somehow manages to make it until 9am before she has her first caffeine intake of the morning.

"Harry appears to be his old self again," Lucas comments to her quietly, knowingly, as he enters the small kitchen behind her.

"Really?"

"You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you?" he asks.

"I can't imagine what I could have done to bring about such a change," she replies, feigning innocence.

Lucas merely gives a half-smile and exits the kitchen, tea in hand.

And then, knowing what the future is likely to hold, she's no longer able to suppress a smile.

XxX

Fini


End file.
